Letter one hundred and fourteen - The days go on

Dearest J,

Sometimes we cry to make ourselves feel better.

I think it's like the same science as we shiver when we are cold, our bodies move in order to create heat.

The flat got broken into on Saturday night...on Sunday, just before 2am.  The burglar must have came through the open window at the kitchen sink...luckily for me that he had no intention of meeting me - he escaped through the window too after I came into the flat.  I locked myself in the study and made phone calls, after seeing the mess in it, that was when I knew I wasn't alone in the flat - and it wasn't the cat or Chelsia.

Made those phone calls with trembling hands, but calm enough that I could still make sense to the security and to Fai upstairs.

All he managed to take...as far as I know now, was my old iPhone and he screwed up my Rowenta fan next to the desk, the one we bought together at the Tropicana City mall.  I came back just in time to stop him venturing beyond those compartments.

Hours later in the shower my mind wandered off to you, and how you would want to be here for me if you were still around.  I know now that I have grown more independent without you, but am not sure, you were always very proud of my independent ways back then...

But tonight when I went to shower in the wee hours again, a strong wind slammed a window shut somewhere in the flat and put me in an unhealthy sense of alert.  Then I guiltily wondered what it would be like if I had a new lover here now living with me and seconds later I chided myself for having succumbed to such an easy route to simple excuse for misery.

On days like this, dwelling on miserable thoughts for a few minutes feel like one of those sinful escapism...except instead of putting on unnecessary weight, you release your mind into a windmill of miserable thoughts and self-pity till the tears start to taste like candies - laden with processed sugar.

And for that `spa experience', the perfect backdrop would be a sound track of perfectly written love songs, people like Katie Melua or Barbra Streisand do very well.

The cat is staring at me now as I write to you.  In fact she was staring at my reflection in the huge mirror behind my desk.  She is my silent companion, she is silent 100% of the time except for bell she wears.  She is a very hyper, yet silent presence.  Her gaze is mostly intense, with lots of intention that I don't always interpret correctly.

My village people gave me the latest iPhone for birthday, it's a really fancy phone but it's such a practical gift.  It was a very good day, I spent it at leisure and at work.  There are a few birthdays lined up these few weeks for people I like, am learning to enjoy making a fuss over birthdays of people I really like.

Am really late for bed, the strong wind has stopped.  Am going to sleep in the room with the stick Peter gave me yesterday, for self defense.  I know I will be ok.  Am looking into window grille soon...

Miss you lots, too much.

Love,

B